Mischief and Mistletoe
by evitamockingbird
Summary: It's December and some mistletoe appears at Downton Abbey. Will there be trouble? Vague S5 spoilers.
1. It's Everywhere

**Fluffity fluffing fluff.**

Mr. Carson awoke one chilly December morning feeling rather cheerful, though he couldn't have said why. _Perhaps because Christmas is nearing, _he thought as he dressed for the day. He didn't participate in many Christmas traditions, but he still enjoyed watching the children enjoy the holiday. He was almost dressed when a surprising sight caught his eye. There was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling of his bedroom, just inside the door! It had been quite late when he retired the night before, but he was certain he would have noticed that little arrangement of leaves and berries if it had been there when he went to bed. Who on earth had been in his room, while he was sleeping, and had hung that mistletoe? And what exactly did he or she mean to imply? Who would Mr. Carson be kissing in his _bedroom, _of all places? It was terribly improper, and he wanted to find out who it was so he could mete out appropriate punishment, but he would have to tread carefully in order to avoid embarrassing himself.

Mr. Carson gave the offending plant a disapproving look as he left his room, but he couldn't push away the thoughts that sprung to his mind unbidden. Supposing he ever found himself trapped under mistletoe with various members of staff, what would he do? A nice kiss on the cheek for a few he had known the longest would be acceptable, but he didn't think he could bring himself to kiss the youngest maids that he barely knew. He would pretend it just wasn't there. They were all probably too intimidated by him to want a kiss from him anyway. For Mrs. Patmore he had always felt a sisterly affection and after so many years he had developed almost a paternal affection for a few of the younger ones, such as Anna and Daisy. And Mrs. Hughes, of course, held his esteem as an equal, just as Mrs. Patmore did, although he did not think of her as a sister. She was a dear friend, and he would only feel odd kissing her cheek if they had an audience.

When Mr. Carson got downstairs, he was dismayed to discover that there was mistletoe _everywhere._ It hung in every doorway and in a variety of other spots as well. It would be difficult to find a place to stand that would not subject him to that silly tradition of kissing any person who had the unfortunate timing to be under it with him. This could be a treacherous day.

The first person to find herself standing under a sprig of mistletoe with Mr. Carson was Mrs. Hughes. She wished him good morning and started speaking to him about the upstairs breakfast, but she stopped when she noticed Mr. Carson's expression. "Whatever's the matter?" Before he had a chance to answer, however, she noticed his surreptitious glances up to the ceiling, where the mistletoe hung. She smiled and tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, Mr. Carson," she told him with a wave of her hand. "You don't have to worry that I'll hold you to the silly tradition of the mistletoe. We're far too busy for that."

At this, Mr. Carson relaxed and was able to pay attention to what Mrs. Hughes was telling him. Once they had separated, he breathed a sigh of relief. The day might not be as treacherous as he had feared. He made up his mind to set Mr. Molesley to the task of taking down the excess mistletoe. He could tolerate leaving a few sprigs in doorways, but the current situation really was simply ridiculous. Mr. Molesley was quite busy, however, and all the hallboys were occupied as well. Mr. Carson wondered if he ought to take some down himself, but he couldn't find the time to do more than pull down what he found hanging in his pantry. The holiday festivities were keeping everyone busy from dawn to dusk or later.

#####

That night before he went to bed, Mr. Carson stood on a chair and took down the mistletoe that hung in his bedroom. He laid it on the bureau so he would remember to throw it away in the morning and then fell into bed, worn out. In spite of his exhaustion, however, Mr. Carson could not fall asleep immediately. He could discipline his actions, but he was having more difficulty with his thoughts. Seeing so much mistletoe had kept him thinking all day of kissing. Polishing silver. Kissing. Breakfast in the servants' hall. Kissing. Afternoon post to the kitchen staff. Kissing. Tea. Kissing. There was even a sprig of the stuff hanging upstairs in the servery. Kissing, kissing, and more kissing. And now that he was trying to sleep, he had no work to distract him from this very inappropriate line of thought.

There was no use in denying that his thoughts (daydreams?) of kissing throughout the day had followed a particular pattern. First he went into the kitchen and gave Mrs. Patmore a kiss on the cheek. She laughed, called him cheeky, and shooed him out into the corridor. On his way out of the kitchen, he ran across Daisy in the doorway. He wished her happy Christmas with a kiss on her forehead. She thanked him and went into the kitchen. In the servants' hall he discovered Mr. and Mrs. Bates kissing beneath the mistletoe and he let them be. Everywhere else in these little imaginings, however, was Mrs. Hughes, but he never kissed her. He would see her down the corridor or across a room, standing under a sprig of mistletoe, but when he tried to approach her, she moved away before he reached her. He could never catch her and she seemed to tease him by speaking just a little too softly for him to hear, and often he only entered a room to see her leave it. The real Mrs. Hughes did not flee from him, however, nor did she behave differently than she did every other day, aside from assuring him that she would not force him to kiss her when they found themselves under a sprig of mistletoe, as happened quite a few times throughout the day.

Mr. Carson found these musings very frustrating. While kissing Mrs. Patmore and Daisy seemed a bit odd, he thought he could tolerate such situations without much loss of dignity, if they ever occurred. And as far as Mr. and Mrs. Bates went, they weren't foolish youths to be scolded; he was willing to look the other way, trusting them not to allow the mistletoe to prevent them from doing their jobs. He seemed to be in constant pursuit of Mrs. Hughes, however, and she was very successful at eluding him. Mr. Carson couldn't understand this. Mrs. Hughes only occasionally avoided him, usually when she was cross with him. This teasing phantom of a housekeeper befuddled him, both within his imagination and when he found himself speaking to the real Mrs. Hughes.

Eventually, Mr. Carson could puzzle no further. He told himself that his imaginary Mrs. Hughes would receive a kiss on the cheek just as Mrs. Patmore had, and that she would probably respond similarly. A bit of teasing in the moment, but the kiss would be quickly forgotten. As he fell asleep he tried to force his mind to create this picture, but he failed. All night long, Mrs. Hughes repeatedly slipped away from him, though he let his work go undone in favor of seeking her throughout the house. He awoke the next morning feeling thwarted, and he was not nearly as cheerful as he had been the morning before, when his mind dwelt on thoughts of how much the children enjoyed the Christmas season. Mr. Carson was not enjoying the season himself and he knew he would be uncomfortable until he was able to discipline his thoughts. Perhaps he really ought to consider removing the mistletoe a priority, regardless of how busy he was otherwise. It was far too distracting.

_To be continued…_

**a/n: Some people go bargain-hunting at 12:15 am on Black Friday. I, apparently, post fanfic.**

**Please leave a review if you can spare a few moments.**


	2. Daydreams and Distraction

"Mrs. Hughes, do you know who is responsible for hanging up an indecent amount of mistletoe downstairs?" Mr. Carson asked her at breakfast.

"No, I'm not sure," she answered.

"I really must have it taken down today. It is very distracting." Mr. Carson paused and cleared his throat. "To the staff, that is."

Mrs. Hughes's eyes twinkled. "I hardly think it's a great problem, Mr. Carson. I caught a glimpse of Mr. and Mrs. Bates kissing in the servants' hall yesterday, but that's it."

"Still," he argued. "Just because they're not kissing doesn't mean they aren't thinking about it."

"I'm beginning to think it's _you_ that's distracted," she told him, raising her eyebrows. "Memories of Miss Neal under the mistletoe, perhaps?"

"Certainly not!" Mr. Carson bristled.

Mrs. Hughes raised her hands in surrender, smiling. "Very well," she agreed. "And perhaps you'll be pleased to know that I removed the mistletoe from my rooms."

"Your rooms?"

"Yes, I found some in my sitting room and I took it down." She lowered her voice. "There was also some hanging in my bedroom. _That_ sprig most certainly had to go."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows drew together. "I think we have a prankster in our midst," he grumbled. "There was a piece of it in my room when I woke up yesterday morning and I also took some down from my pantry."

"Really! Well, I hope I'll discover who might have concocted such a plan. When it comes to scheming, there is one person I would always suspect, but this seems rather too lighthearted a sport for him. The worst it could cause is a little embarrassment. At best he might even be doing someone a favor."

"I suppose," Mr. Carson replied skeptically. He returned to eating his porridge, still annoyed. However, with her teasing about Alice, Mrs. Hughes had unwittingly provided him with a plan that might help him get his strange daydreams under control. He had loved Alice at one time, and had kissed her a few times, though never under mistletoe. But he thought he could imagine himself young and in love and replace his frustrating pursuit of Mrs. Hughes with memories of Alice.

While he stood watching over the family at breakfast, Mr. Carson put this plan into action, or tried to. He conjured up Alice's face and form and imagined himself much younger, and chasing her around the theatre. He never caught her, but he did not find this upsetting. He really had no wish to catch her. As Mrs. Hughes had once urged him to do, he now remembered Alice fondly, but she was no longer part of his life and had not been for some time. He was amused, then, when his daydreams moved in another direction. He still sought to catch Alice under the mistletoe, but they were at Downton Abbey now, and Mr. Carson himself was a little older. Alice ran up and down the stairs and ducked through doorways to avoid him. It made him want to laugh, but he betrayed none of this as he stood at attention in the dining room. However, he soon had to repress a scowl, rather than laughter, for after just a few minutes of pursuing Alice all over the house, she faded from view and he found himself shadowing a young Elsie Hughes.

Upstairs breakfast ended and his imaginary search continued as he made his way downstairs, both he and the vision of Mrs. Hughes growing older, until she looked just as she had this morning. She escaped him time after time, until at last he managed to trap her in her sitting room. He closed the door and advanced on her, but this time she held her ground. He reached for her shoulders, but before he could touch her she shook her head and pointed to the ceiling. His eyes followed her gesture to see that there was no mistletoe. Apparently this Mrs. Hughes had taken it down, just as the real Mrs. Hughes had done. His dream continued and he found himself frozen in time, staring at her, taking in every detail of her face, his eyes dwelling on her lips, while she looked right back at him, a slightly amused expression on her face. Then at last he backed away from her, leaving her alone in her sitting room.

The daydream dissipated and Mr. Carson sat quietly in his pantry, his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. He didn't feel well at all. His legs trembled, his breathing was shallow, and his mouth was dry - almost as though he really _had_ been running all over the house for hours, in search of Alice and then Mrs. Hughes. He considered feigning illness and going back to bed, but he knew that would never do. Mrs. Hughes was sure to come check on him and he preferred to avoid her for the present. Fortunately, after a half hour alone in his pantry, Mr. Carson felt more himself and was able to go about his day as usual.

By the end of the day Mr. Carson was no longer avoiding Mrs. Hughes and he brought sherry to her sitting room. "Would you like some?" he asked.

She greeted him with a smile and laid down her pen. "I'd love some." She took the glass from him and they both sat down. "You might be surprised at what I found when I came in here after breakfast," Mrs. Hughes remarked.

"What's that?" Mr. Carson was curious. He almost choked on his sherry when she pointed up toward the ceiling, just as she had in his daydream earlier in the day. He looked up and found that now there _was_ mistletoe hanging in her sitting room, just above where she was sitting. He found himself staring at her again, and now that he was in her true presence he could see that his imagination had conjured her up exactly as she was. Every detail of her face, her hair, her dress, and even her posture was the same.

"I think we have a persistent prankster on our hands," she commented, clearly amused.

Mr. Carson shook his head a little to clear it and tried to behave normally. "Whoever he is, I hope he tires of this nonsense soon," he grumbled.

"If he replaces any mistletoe that is taken down, I'll admit that could get pretty tiresome," Mrs. Hughes agreed.

Mr. Carson drained his glass. "Speaking of tiresome, I'll say goodnight now, Mrs. Hughes. It's been a long day."

She rose with him. "It has indeed. Good night, Mr. Carson."

#####

When Mr. Carson entered his bedroom he almost cursed aloud. The mistletoe he had removed that morning had been replaced. He climbed up on a chair immediately and pulled it down. This time instead of leaving it on top of his bureau, he tossed it in the bottom drawer in disgust. This was simply not acceptable. He changed into his pajamas, but once he was in bed, he lay awake again thinking about kissing. His imaginings of kissing Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and even Alice, were all distant memories. Every invention of his mind now involved the evasive and stealthy Mrs. Hughes. Occasionally he caught her, but for varying reasons he was still unable to claim a kiss, or even to touch her.

Mr. Carson had months ago stopped denying to himself that he loved Mrs. Hughes. It was difficult to admit it privately. To speak of it to her or to anyone else was unthinkable. It was not that he felt ashamed. Sometimes he found being in love inconvenient, but he couldn't bring himself to be sorry that he was, even if he never told her. Even more impossible was the idea that he could be ashamed of loving _her_. That could never be; he had not in all of his years met anyone as lovely and spirited as Mrs. Hughes. No, it was not shame that held Mr. Carson back, but uncertainty. He had been in love once before, but he was much younger and the path to happiness clearer. He had courted Alice. He had hoped to marry her. He had planned to leave the music halls and find a way to take care of her properly. If they were fortunate, they would be blessed with children. Once those dreams were dashed, Mr. Carson had entered service, where the rules were different. If he had known her when they were younger, if he had met Elsie rather than Alice, might he be a grandfather by now? As it turned out, he and Mrs. Hughes had developed a true and satisfying friendship that had recently begun shifting and changing. But what was he to do with his lately discovered love? It was likely that he was overthinking it all, but he knew no other way.

When he finally fell asleep, Mr. Carson's dreams were filled with Mrs. Hughes, and at last he caught her under the mistletoe and kissed her. Sometimes she would then flee from him again, but other times she would stay with him and he would whisper words of love to her and all of his waking inhibitions would leave him. In this fantasy world there were no rules and no reason for them to stop at kissing. She was just as eager as he was and they were both carried away.

Mr. Carson awoke out of breath and sweating the next morning. He hadn't thought he could be more disquieted than he was the day before, but today he was extremely uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. He could hardly believe his eyes when he noticed that the mistletoe he had torn from the ceiling had once again been replaced. He checked his bottom bureau drawer and found the crumpled sprig he had tossed out yesterday. Mr. Carson left the mistletoe as it was this time. He needed to conserve his energy to face the day and to face Mrs. Hughes. He dressed quickly and went downstairs.

Once again, without even trying, he found himself under the mistletoe with Mrs. Hughes. She did not bother to assure him he needn't kiss her. She had done so enough times the day before that it was understood at this point. However, Mr. Carson had some difficulty focusing on whatever she was asking him. He was distracted by everything about her - her eyes, her lips, the way she moved. He wondered what he could possibly do to get through this day and, for that matter, all of the days after it. It was not even time for the servants' breakfast and already he could think of nothing but kissing Mrs. Hughes. Avoiding her never seemed to work. For one thing, there were times when his work required that he consult with her, and for another, even when he tried to avoid her the rest of the time, she was so active throughout the house that they crossed paths regularly. The only thing that worked was shutting himself in his pantry all day, but that had its pitfalls. If Mrs. Hughes learned that he had shut himself away, she would check in on him to make sure he was all right. Mr. Carson wondered if it might be possible to do the opposite, to spend as much time with her as possible, following her on her rounds, visiting her in her sitting room, and taking her tea and sherry. There was such a thing as too much of a good thing, after all. Perhaps if he spent every possible moment of the day in her presence, it would cure, or at least lessen, his obsessive thoughts.

Mr. Carson was successful at his attempts to spend every possible moment with Mrs. Hughes. However, he certainly did not cure himself; it only made things worse. She noticed that he was following her, but she said nothing about it. She also felt his scrutiny and it made her nervous. She often found Mr. Carson staring at her, but she did not find his reactions to her flattering at all. He spent much of the day looking very uncomfortable or outright scowling. Mrs. Hughes had never known him to hesitate to speak to her when he didn't approve of something she had done, and she wished he would just come out and say why he was so displeased. This secrecy and restraint was quite unpleasant. Hearing him tell her how disappointed he was in her would not be comfortable either, but it was something she could manage. When she had no idea what displeased him, Mrs. Hughes felt unmoored. She tried to draw it out of Mr. Carson, but as determined as he seemed to follow her everywhere, he seemed curiously hesitant to talk to her more than was strictly necessary.

By lunchtime, Mr. Carson was aware that his idea of curing himself with a surfeit of her was ridiculous to the extreme. He heard everything she said, because he liked to hear her speak, but he found it difficult to actually listen. And as for watching her every move, there seemed to be no help for it. He couldn't stop himself. However, if he was to be uncomfortable no matter what, he thought he might as well be with her as not.

#####

Mrs. Hughes was alone in the servery looking through the linens. The dressing gong had rung, but dinner would not be served for almost an hour, so she could do some work in here without getting in anyone's way. Before she had been working for very long, though, Mr. Carson appeared.

"There you are, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "I've been looking for you."

She smiled. "Well, here I am. What is it?"

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "Actually, I can't remember anymore. I'm sure it will come to me later."

Mrs. Hughes nodded and returned to her work, but she could see in her peripheral vision that he had not left the room. He was watching her again and a quick glance told her that he was frowning. All at once she was tired of putting up with his silent disapproval and she turned to face him. "Mr. Carson, I wish you would just tell me what I've done wrong," she told him.

"Done wrong?" Mr. Carson questioned, truly confused.

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been frowning at me all day," she explained, exasperated. "It seems you're even following me around in order to make it clear just how much you disapprove of me."

"No, that isn't it at all!" he sputtered.

"Then what is it?" she wanted to know. "Why the dark looks?"

"I-I'm just preoccupied," he answered.

Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe you."

Mr. Carson couldn't think of anything to say. He was dismayed that not only had his plan to cure his obsession failed spectacularly, but now he'd made her angry, and possibly even hurt her.

"Leave me in peace, please, Mr. Carson," she requested. "You're just making me uneasy."

"But-"

"I don't want to hear it. Come see me when you're ready to tell me the truth about what I've done that has you so annoyed." She waved her hand, trying to shoo him from the room.

"All right, I'll tell you the truth," he told her with a sigh.

Mrs. Hughes was a little worried by his weary tone and she relented. "Thank you, Mr. Carson," she said gently. "I'm listening."

Mr. Carson approached her and tried to decide where to start. He had imagined many times how this conversation might go, but in his mind it never started with an argument between them. He sighed and let his head fall back as though looking to heaven for some inspiration. His eyes then fell on the sprig of mistletoe that he had forgotten was still hanging in the servery. Mrs. Hughes stood directly beneath it. Mr. Carson walked slowly in her direction until they were standing nearly toe-to-toe. For the first time all day, a little smile crossed his lips. He looked into her wondering eyes for a moment before he bent down and kissed her. Mrs. Hughes gave a tiny gasp of surprise at first, but she did not resist him. Her hands came to rest on his chest and she kissed him back.

It was fortunate for the pair beneath the mistletoe that Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter were chatting quietly as the footman made his way to the servery. At the sound of his voice in the corridor, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sprung apart, fortunately before they were discovered.

"I'm just coming to see if that small silver tray got left up here last night, Mr. Carson," Mr. Molesley explained as he entered.

"Yes, very good," Mr. Carson responded distractedly.

"Oh, um, Mrs. Patmore was asking for you just now, Mr. Carson." Mr. Molesley began searching the room for the missing tray.

"Thank you, Mr. Molesley. I'll go see her now." And Mr. Carson left the servery without a backward glance.

Mrs. Hughes wondered what on earth had just happened. She went back to sorting through the linens. She felt a bit dazed, but she had every intention of demanding an explanation from Mr. Carson. However, she would not ask him in the corridor or at the dinner table. This was a conversation that could only happen behind closed doors.

_To be continued…_

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	3. Three Talks

Mr. Carson went to the kitchen to find out what Mrs. Patmore needed, but he was almost giddy after kissing Mrs. Hughes, which meant he had to ask the cook to repeat herself several times before he understood what she was asking.

"What's wrong with _him_?" Mrs. Patmore wondered after he left the room. Daisy whispered something in Mrs. Patmore's ear. "Well, I never!"

The assistant cook tried unsuccessfully to hold back a giggle.

"Daisy Mason, you'll keep that to yourself if you know what's good for you."

"'Course I will! But don't you think it's-"

"Never mind what I think. Get back to work!" Mrs. Patmore relented, however, once Daisy was hard at work. "We'll talk about it later," she murmured to her young assistant, before following Mr. Carson to his pantry.

She knocked on the door and went in without waiting for a response. She found the butler sitting at his desk with a bemused expression on his face.

Mrs. Patmore didn't mince words. "Mr. Carson, there's something you need to know."

He looked up at her, as though he had only just noticed that she was in the room. "What is it?"

"You've a bit of lip rouge on your face." She folded her arms across her chest.

Mr. Carson turned red and Mrs. Patmore tried not to laugh at his horrified expression. He dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and began scrubbing at his mouth.

"Daisy's the one who noticed it, Mr. Carson, and she'll keep quiet, but I don't know how many of the others can be trusted to do the same. You'd best be careful with Mrs. Hughes's reputation."

"But how do you... What are you trying to..." Mr. Carson trailed off, unsure of what he should say next.

"A little fun under the mistletoe is all well and good, but I'll not have you breaking my friend's heart."

Mr. Carson looked at her quite solemnly. "You may be sure, Mrs. Patmore, that this was not just a little fun under the mistletoe. At least not to me. The last thing I want is to break her heart."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Carson, because you know I have the means to make your life miserable," she threatened.

"But Mrs. Patmore, if I have the ability to break her heart, doesn't it follow that I also have the ability to make her happy?" Mr. Carson asked cautiously.

"That depends on you. She's not said a word to me about it, so I can't be sure of exactly how happy or unhappy you could make her. I just want you to be careful. Don't muck it up, Mr. Carson."

"I'll do my best, Mrs. Patmore." As the cook left the pantry, however, Mr. Carson was consumed with anxiety. He was not at all confident that he wouldn't somehow 'muck it up,' no matter how good his intentions were. Now that he had kissed her, the stakes were so much higher than they had been even yesterday. One thing he did know, however, was that he could not avoid her now. However foolish he might be otherwise, he felt certain that hiding from her would be one of the easiest ways to hurt her, no matter how she felt about him.

Mr. Carson got up from his desk. It was almost time to serve dinner, and he suspected Mrs. Hughes was finished with her linens and would be back downstairs. He went to her sitting room and found her just getting up from her desk. When she saw him in her doorway, she stayed standing where she was. Mr. Carson was tense from head to toe, and Mrs. Hughes did not appear to be very relaxed either. He forced himself to speak.

"Mrs. Hughes, we were talking earlier about my... strange mood. Do you have time later this evening to continue that discussion?"

"I do," she confirmed. "Will you bring sherry, or shall I make tea?"

"I think I would prefer tea." He tried to smile, but he was afraid it probably looked more like a grimace.

Mrs. Hughes seemed to sense how nervous he was and approached him with a slight smile. "I know I was very short with you earlier, Mr. Carson, but I'm sure we can work it all out over a cup of tea."

He nodded. "Well, it's time I was going. Dinner won't serve itself." Mr. Carson tried again to smile and this time he succeeded a little better than before.

"Be off with you then," she replied, and he made his way to the kitchen.

#####

Mrs. Hughes looked up from her work when she heard a knock on her door. "I didn't expect you so early!" she told Mr. Carson with a smile when he walked through her door with a tea tray.

"I sent Mr. Barrow up to deal with his lordship," he explained, pouring the tea.

Mrs. Hughes crossed the room, closed the door, and leaned back against it. "Mr. Carson, I feel quite impatient to hear what you have to say."

Mr. Carson smiled a little and turned toward her. "Come get your cup of tea and we'll sit down for a chat."

She followed his instruction and they sat down together, she in her desk chair, he at the table.

Mr. Carson took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm not quite sure where to begin, Mrs. Hughes."

"It's usually best to start at the beginning," she suggested.

"But the beginning of what?" he wondered.

Mrs. Hughes didn't know what he meant, but she said, "Why not try starting with this morning?"

Mr. Carson shrugged. "I suppose that's as good a beginning as any." He paused and set down his cup. "I woke up in a bad humor."

"Why?" Mrs. Hughes wanted to know.

"Let me tell you that part some other time. For now, I'd like to leave it at that."

"Very well."

"Last night when I went to bed, the mistletoe hanging in my room had been replaced. I tore it down before I went to sleep, and there was more of it hanging there in the morning. I was tired of fighting that battle, so I left it where it was." Mr. Carson paused. "I was annoyed before I even came downstairs, Mrs. Hughes. It didn't have anything to do with you."

"Then why did you follow me all over the house?"

"A foolish idea I had, trying to think of a way to… improve my mood."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "You tried to improve your mood by keeping me company, but it failed terribly. I suppose I do have that effect on you at times, Mr. Carson."

"No!" he exclaimed, then lowered his voice. "No, that's not how it went. I'm telling it all wrong."

"Perhaps you should start at the end, rather than the beginning?" she wondered.

"It's worth a try."

"Let me get you started." Mr. Carson nodded. "You kissed me in the servery and then left without speaking to me."

"Yes, I did. You see, I was going to tell you what was the matter, to explain that I wasn't angry at you, and then I was distracted by you and the mistletoe. I kissed you, but Mr. Molesley turned up before I could explain my odd behavior to you."

"You might have waited for him to leave," Mrs. Hughes pointed out.

"Yes. That is probably what I should have done. Or I could have just gone back up to you after I spoke briefly to Mrs. Patmore."

"Then tell me what you were going to say to me before you got distracted." Mrs. Hughes looked at him levelly, but he noticed that her teacup was trembling.

Mr. Carson closed his eyes, going back in his mind to a few hours ago in the servery, trying to remember everything he had planned to say before he kissed her. "The reason I was following you all day was because all I could think of yesterday was kissing you, or trying to at least. I avoided you for part of the day yesterday, but it didn't help. I had daydreams of chasing you around the house, but never quite reaching you. You know how they say there can be too much of a good thing? I thought perhaps if I was with you all day… Well, it sounds foolish now when I say it out loud, and it was a very foolish idea, which did not work at all. Most of the time when you saw me frowning, it was because I was irritated with myself for not keeping my mind on more appropriate ideas. A few times I was frowning because my daydream Mrs. Hughes had escaped again and I was left alone under the imaginary mistletoe."

By now Mrs. Hughes had put down her teacup and was smiling. "Mr. Carson, are you sure you know what you are saying?"

"Quite sure."

"I ought to tell you, then, that I am very glad you kissed me. I still don't know who is responsible for all that mistletoe, but it was easy to see that you and I would find ourselves under it together repeatedly, just in the course of a normal day. I knew that if you didn't want to kiss me, you might take to avoiding me, so I tried to assure you that I didn't expect it."

"Yes, well at first that assurance was a relief, but before long it was all I could think about. You see, I love you, and I've known it for a good many months, but I wasn't sure what to do about it."

"Kissing does seem like a good option," Mrs. Hughes remarked teasingly.

"I hope you will let me kiss you again," was his solemn reply.

"Please do. There is mistletoe everywhere."

"But will you kiss me even after the mistletoe is gone?" he asked.

"Of course I will. I love you."

Mr. Carson held out his hand to Mrs. Hughes. "Come here, Elsie, my dear." She stood and took it, allowing him to pull her onto his lap. "That means you'll marry me, doesn't it?" he murmured.

"I might, if you ask nicely," Mrs. Hughes replied.

"You are an outrageous flirt, Elsie Hughes," Mr. Carson murmured in her ear.

"Says the man who kissed the housekeeper in broad daylight," she retorted.

"I'd like to kiss her again in the evening lamplight," he told her. "And then I'd like to kiss her when it's midnight, when it's morning, and at all the hours in between."

"Now _that_ is an excellent proposal. Yes, I'll marry you."

Mr. Carson pulled her close for a kiss. For once, they were not interrupted.

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Miss Baxter was in the servants' hall sewing when Mr. Barrow descended the stairs. He joined her at the table, picking up a newspaper left behind by another servant. Miss Baxter was thankful that he did not light a cigarette; she never could get used to the smell.

"Who d'you suppose put up all the mistletoe?" she asked him.

"Don't know," Mr. Barrow answered, not looking up from his paper.

"Mr. Carson doesn't like it, but no one else seems to mind."

"Did Mr. Carson tell you that?" he wanted to know.

Miss Baxter shook her head. "He didn't have to tell me. I could see it made him uncomfortable the first day, and his mood's only gotten worse since then."

"You think you can read us all, don't you?" Mr. Barrow asked.

"Not exactly. Not everyone, and not always, but I do keep my eyes open."

He smirked. "I suppose it's pretty easy to tell when old Carson's in a bad mood."

Miss Baxter smiled. "You could say that. But I'm surprised all the mistletoe has stayed up this long. I'd have expected Mr. Carson to have torn some of it down himself by now."

"Oh, he tried," Mr. Barrow remarked coolly. "But whatever mistletoe he removed just grew right back."

Miss Baxter was silent for a few moments before speaking more quietly. "Did you do it just to annoy Mr. Carson, or did you have some other scheme in mind?"

"Neither, or both, depending on how you look at it." Mr. Barrow finally glanced up from the newspaper at his companion. "I'm used to making trouble, Miss Baxter. It's what I do. But it's Christmas and I'm feeling generous, so I settled for a bit of harmless mischief."

Miss Baxter simply shook her head, smiled, and continued with her sewing. She'd never known anyone quite like Thomas Barrow.

_The end._

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